


The case of the Marylebone ladies' liquor and yoga appreciation society

by dogandmonkeyshow



Series: Watson's Woes JWP 2018 stories [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Yoga as an excuse for drinking in the middle of the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 15:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15221891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogandmonkeyshow/pseuds/dogandmonkeyshow
Summary: He was starting to think he might be in over his head.Nothin' but a bunch of silly housewives, my arse, he thought as he turned his attention to the safety of his beer.





	The case of the Marylebone ladies' liquor and yoga appreciation society

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Watson's Woes JWP 2018 ficathon, prompt #8: Descriptive Phrase. Use one of the following in your work today. Bonus point if you use all of them! [Broken blade; Police station; Rheumatoid arthritis; Secret society; Vox populi, vox dei; Danger zone; Performance issues; Rapid fire] - all 8 in!

“Come on, John; it'll be fun.”

John stared up at Kathy, towering over him in her vertiginous heels, and gave in to the not-so-subtle pressure of her persistence. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

She gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Look at you, getting all adventurous. You'll be all right, I promise.”

“What's up?”

John turned to face Cerys, another of the mums from Rosie's daycare, her twin boys as usual trying to pull her apart like a medieval felon being rent by horses.

“He's agreed to enter the danger zone,” Kathy replied for him.

“Oh, good on you.” Cerys graced him with one of her lovely smiles. John had always had a soft spot for Cerys, even though he wasn't attracted to her. When Rosie had started at daycare, she'd shown him the ropes, warning him of the mums most likely to come after a widowed dad like heat-seeking missiles, and John had been grateful ever since.

John's phone beeped. “There's the address. See you tomorrow, _chéri_. Don't be late, now. It makes Tomas cranky, then we all pay the price.” Kathy leant down and puffed an air kiss next to his cheek, then marched away in her former-supermodel stomp to undertake one of her regular missions of mercy, distributing her wife's money to the needy merchants of Oxford Street.

~ + ~

The next morning, John stood outside the door to the yoga studio, wondering just how much stick he'd wear for bowing out. 

“Come on now,” a familiar American drawl came over his shoulder just before a surprisingly strong hand grasped his upper arm and steered him through the doorway. Kathy leant over and whispered in his ear, “You chase murderers all over London with that friend of yours, and now you're afraid of a bunch of nothin' but silly housewives. Honestly, John Watson.”

John chuckled and when they'd entered the room, he was confronted with about twenty women in their thirties and forties, arrayed on little mats. They were all facing a man in his early thirties, sitting in the lotus position on a dais at the front of the room.

Kathy and the instructor exchanged namastes and it was the most John could do to not snorfle. He felt as though he'd fallen through a wormhole and landed in a 1990s Britcom.

“Tomas, this is John.” Kathy introduced him with a flourish.

Tomas namaste'd and John waved back. “Uh, hi.”

He followed Kathy to the back of the room, waving to Cerys and other mums from Rosie's daycare as he passed. Kathy had, of course, brought a mat for his use, so he didn't have an excuse to just sit in the back and pretend he wasn't there. She obviously knew what he was thinking and winked at him as she rolled out her own mat next to his. As he sat awkwardly, she leant over and whispered. “Just do what you can and try not to laugh.” She glanced over the other women in the room, then added. “Some of these bitches take this shit seriously. Mostly I'm here for the eye-candy and the booze.”

“What?” He'd have been receptive to the idea before now if he'd known there'd be drinking.

Before she could answer, Tomas began to talk and John went with the flow. He paid no attention to what seemed to him to be blather of the most expensive sort. Some thing about broken blades of grass. Metaphor that John's doctor-ness shut out for Kathy's sake, because he knew he wouldn't be able to not respond if he actually listened.

An hour later John was inexplicably dripping with sweat from what he felt was little in the way of actual exercise. He thought he might have pulled a groin muscle, and the part of his nature he liked to pretend didn't exist mentally agreed with Kathy that the eye-candy had been of a very high quality. All in all, it hadn't been a waste of an hour in the middle of his day off.

As he towelled himself under the eagle eyes of most of the women in the room, he turned to Cerys. “You mentioned something about drinking?”

“A select group of us ladies repair to a nearby establishment to replenish our electrolytes.”

“Well, speaking as a medical man, I agree that electrolyte replacement is critical at this juncture.” Kathy joined him in a laugh.

“The yoga's just a pretence, really. You're coming, aren't you?”

John turned to see Cerys and Bobbi, another of the daycare mums, waiting for them. “Wouldn't miss it.”

They were obviously expected at the “nearby establishment”, as there were two tables pushed together in the back corner, waiting for them. Kathy was, to John's complete lack of surprise, the ringleader and vetter of new members of their little club, all of whom were mums of children who attended Rosie's daycare.

By the time they were all settled and had placed their first drinks orders, the rapid fire conversations spooled up around him. It was soon apparent that many of then were resumptions of old conversations and John decided to just sit back and let it all flow around him for a while.

“—obvious to me that there were some sort of—performance issues at the heart of—”

“—so there were are, at the police station at four o'clock in the morning. I knew that horrible boyfriend of hers would—”

“—pick out the new wallpaper, and of course Robert had to change his mind about seventeen times. Graphic designers are so anal—”

“I thought it was the mistress that had her so upset—”

“—expect from an Eton boy who's a Labour supporter. _Vox populi, vox dei_ and all that fake socialist nonsense. You know he'll be in the EDL in a month, just to annoy his parents—”

“Oh, honey, he's just _bored_ being off work. And I still think that rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis is a bunch of bull. My momma has it. You should let Cissy get you the name of someone competent—”

John let the waves of words roll over him, enveloping him in day-to-day concerns and mutual affections. He felt as though he'd been inducted into a secret society, one men rarely got to see. It was a world where his status as principal carer was accepted without question or pity, and for that he was grateful.

“So, John.” Bobbi's conversation about her daughter's horrible boyfriend was apparently over. “Tell us about your friend, that dishy detective fellow. Is he single, too?”

All the women around the table laughed at his sudden unease.

“More important, is he straight?” Trish asked.

“And what about that Met detective he used to hang out with?” Emma called out from the end of the table. “Very easy on the eyes.”

“Leave the boy alone; he'll think we just asked him along to get to his friends,” Kathy replied and all the women laughed. As they returned to their conversations, Amanda leant across the table. “What do you think of Mrs Ross?”

Daycare talk John could cope with. “She's a bit—flaky, I guess.”

“Kathy thinks she's an escaped convict.”

“Stop mis-representing my words, Amanda Forsyth, or I'll tell John about what you said to Trish last week.”

“Go ahead,” Amanda fired back, raising her glass of wine in salute.

“I do not think she's an escaped _convict_. But she's very shady.” Kathy nodded her head once for emphasis. “She's on the run. Witness protection, maybe.”

“Maybe she's a spy,” John suggested to get into the mood of proceedings.

“Maybe you should ask your friend's brother,” Cerys said with a sly grin.

 _What?_ “Mycroft? What would he know about spies?” John knew not to chuckle, because it would be a nervous chuckle and that would totally give the game away. “He works at Business, Industry and Skills. Strategic policy something-or-other.”

“That's not what Theo said.”

John wondered just what Cerys' husband did that brought him into contact with Mycroft Holmes. Knowing himself to be the world's worst liar, John dismissed the temptation to prevaricate and just shrugged in reply. 

He was starting to think he might be in over his head. _Nothin' but a bunch of silly housewives, my arse_ , he thought as he turned his attention to the safety of his beer.


End file.
